Dude, You Suck and I Like the Other Dude
by Sakura02
Summary: Havoc and Hawkeye? Who would have guessed? Her response sent a shiver down his back that made him feel really sick. He couldn't understand his reasons for feeling this way, but just thinking about it made his head spin. Royai. Rating changed.
1. Roses

Dude, You Suck and I Like the Other Dude (Laying Down the Ante)

**WARNING: **Just as a heads up, there will be a slight reference to the fanfic "Break Me" in this chapter. See if you can catch it.

º º º

_How hard could it be...to make her love me?_

This was the one question that nagged at Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc's brain ever since high school. He never really cared if a girl was able to love him or not (with the exception of his mother), but it was just one of those questions that needed experience in order to figure out.

He tried on numerous occasions to hook up with a higher up, that is, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, but he figured that getting threatened at gunpoint probably wouldn't end up being the best of relationships. He didn't even find her all that attractive--she never wore makeup and she never once wore her hair differently--but something inside of him always made him ask her on a date.

And what of the colonel? He and Roy Mustang had always been somewhat of opposing competitors when it came to women. Havoc just couldn't understand it, but unlike him, women seemed to swarm at Mustang's feet, begging for a date. Havoc himself never had anyone so dramatic and demanding towards him, but then again, it didn't bother him as much as his colleagues seemed to believe; the only time it ever really meant something to him was when Mustang was around. Of course, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was trying to impress his superior officer... No, no, of course not.

Mustang on the other hand, didn't even need to try to get women to notice him; his looks were flawless, and if Havoc dared to say so, he was stunningly handsome. He could be leaving his office after an all-nighter, looking completely dead and out of it (just horrid, in Havoc's eyes), but the colonel would never cease to impress some female officer. Just the thought of Mustang looking so..._distgusting_ made him shudder.

But still, no matter how much he hated that about Mustang, he would always remain loyal to him. He would collect his paperwork, answer the phone, and was constantly being reminded by his commanding officer just how he stacked up to him.

"Lieutenant Havoc, once you've finished staring at Lieutenant Hawkeye's _ass_, could you go down to mess hall to grab me something to drink?"

Havoc blinked, realizing that the direction his eyes were pointed at were none other than toward's Hawkeye's rear end. He questioned whether or not he should meet the woman's gaze, but rather reluctantly, he did so anyway. To his amazement, and what some would say his luck, his fellow lieutenant merely made a disgusted face and turned away quickly, although not before Havoc had a chance to see the blush on her cheeks. He smiled before remembering something about the colonel.

"Didn't you just drink like four cups of coffee about an hour ago?"

Mustang looked up from his paperwork, his left eyebrow in a high arch.

"Are you questioning my orders, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," Havoc said, with a long drawn-out sigh.

Rather sluggishly, he proceeded with lifting himself out of his chair, beginning his trek to mess hall to once again serve his commanding officer.

Once he was out of eyeshot, Lieutenant Hawkeye turned her attention to the ground below her, looking through the glass window, watching as people bustled in and out of the building. Only one color stood out to her as different; unlike the blue and black uniforms of the military, this one was wearing a long, red coat.

"Mustang, sir, it looks like we'll soon have some company. "

º º º

Ever since Edward Elric's last visit to see Colonel Mustang, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had found herself in a strange predicament; she remembered the elder Elric speaking with Lieutenant Havoc on his way up, and seeing his current state, quickly decided to speak to Hawkeye about it in private.

Mustang had been curious of course, and Hawkeye could tell he was using every ounce of willpower to stop himself from using his higher rank as a resolve.

But even now, she as looked at herself in the mirror, adding the final touches of mascara, she began to wonder how she was talked into allowing Havoc to ask her on a date, or how she was even persuaded to agreeing. With Havoc, he'd been trying to get her to agree with this since as long as they'd worked together, and to her it felt like she was allowing a spoiled, cavity-infested child into a candy store and letting him buy everything that was currently under the price of $2. Something had to be mentally wrong with her, there just had to be in order for to do something so _reckless_.

She brushed through her hair for what literally felt like the 20th time, feeling the corner of an eye twitch at the sight of her this way. She was clearly not happy, but the condition was set, and she had already said yes. The need to back out was beginning to overwhelm her, but the thought of such a cowardly act made her shudder.

It was when the doorbell rang that truly frightened her. Havoc was here, waiting outside her house, and ready and willing to accompany her to dinner. Still none too pleased with the situation, she stood from her vanity chair, slipped on her heels, and slowly and shakily made her way to the door.

If it wasn't already a given, Havoc was standing at her door, a half-confident half-nervous grin on his face, a bouquet of tangerine-colored roses in one hand, and a rectangle-shaped box of what was probably chocolates in the other. Hawkeye carefully took the roses from the second lieutenant, and haphazardly dumped them and the box of chocolates on the side table as she let him in.

Havoc was just beginning to remove his coat, when Hawkeye roughly grabbed his arm, leading them back outside and towards his parked car. The male quickened his pace as he tried to near the car before her to open the passenger door, but once again he was beaten, and she let herself in, almost slamming the door shut behind her. After a few moments of a stalled reaction, Havoc walked around the front-side of the car, climbed in, and turned on the ignition.

"It's a nice evening for an outside dinner," Havoc said, putting the car in drive and heading east.

Hawkeye had plenty more to add to that, none of it much too nice, but she figured she should humor him if just for a little while. So she smiled and said, "Where are we going?"

This clearly caught the lower-ranked lieutenant off guard, for his eyes went wide, resuming with what seemed like a 30 second silence of bemused thought. "Wherever you want. I'm just excited to have you here."

She smiled at him, but in reality, Havoc's sweetness made her want to throw up. She was just glad that this was a one-time thing, and that she'd never have to spend another evening with Jean Havoc ever again. And ever since she left her house, she'd been sniffling like crazy.

"Jean, can we make this quick?"

After she said this, she quickly regretted it; the look he gave her tore her up inside. She hadn't said it to be mean, it was just that her head was killing her, and truthfully, she didn't want to go through with this at all.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant," she added. "How about we go to that new place downtown?"

The grin he gave her as a response lifted the guity pressure of having disappointing him. So, as they drove, she kept telling herself that everything would go smoothly, and just to act natural in order to pass the time. Heck, she even had the thought of enjoying herself.

º º º

Colonel Roy Mustang was constantly comparing his job to that of a teacher; he sat at a desk all day, reading and signing papers, and occasionally, even had to babysit the rest of the members in his company. He told himself that the only reason he'd joined the military as a state alchemist was because he believed it was his duty to go out on the frontline and protect his country, but as things would have it, the colonel hadn't seen much frontline action in many years.

"Does anyone here know where my two lieutenants are? ...Not you Breda, the other two."

The men shook their heads, earning a deeply emphasized sighed from the colonel. It wasn't unusual for Havoc to show up late, but Hawkeye had always been one for punctuality; and the fact that both of them were missing left Mustang highly suspicious.

"Havoc did mention yesterday that he and Lieutenant Hawkeye had a scheduled rendezvous for the evening," said Warrant Officer Vato Falman. "Maybe they spent the night together."

"That's doubtful," Mustang said. "Hawkeye would never, _could never _bring herself to have anything to do with Havoc; that's just the way she is."

"And you would know this _how_...?" Breda asked.

"My best friend's in the investigations department, isn't he?" Mustang said, picking up his pen while disappearing behind a stack of papers. "Besides, you can tell that she only goes for a certain type of man, and it doesn't look like Havoc fits the category."

"And what type of man do _you_ think she likes?" Major Sergeant Kain Feury asked from his place by the coffee machine.

"It's pretty obvious--"

But at that precise moment, the female lieutenant in question idly walked in, totally oblivious to anything being said before she entered. The men in the room were actually quiet speechless upon seeing her; she looked a mess. Her complexion was pale and she had big, dark circles under her eyes. She didn't look like anything was the matter, in fact, it was almost as if there was nothing at all wrong. The strangest part of it was the large vase of tangerine-colored roses tucked away under her arm.

She said nothing as she made her way over to the clock-in station, dropping her things on the table as she went. After that, she walked over to Mustang and deposited the vase on the only paper-free corner of his desk.

Mustang watched amusedly as she then sat herself on the couch, closed her eyes, and then pinched the bridge of her nose, desperately trying to free herself from a throbbing headache. He turned his eyes back to the flowers that had been so carefully placed on his desk; he knew they weren't a gift for him, nor for any of the other guys, but he knew they had obviously been placed there for a reason.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?" Falman tried. "Is something wrong?"

Without so much as a heartbeat's pause, she replied in a hushed voice, "I'm completely hungover."

Now this did not sit well with Roy Mustang. Something was definately wrong, and he made it his own personal mission to find out what. Never in his lifetime would his first lieutenant agree to a date with his second lieutenant, show up late to work, _and_ be hungover. Oh no, this did not sit well with him at all, and he was beginning to think it had everything to do with a certain Jean Havoc.

He watched curiously as Feury shuffled over to Hawkeye, offering her his mug of fresh coffee; she took it gratefully, drinking the warm liquid to ease her nerves. The two officers spoke in whispers to each other, and Mustang was too far away to hear them properly, so instead he watched them.

And he nearly wet himself when the phone on his desk gave a loud ring. Allowing for his heart to stop pounding, he watched as Hawkeye scrunched up her face at the shrill sound; so she was hungover after all. After a second, he picked up the phone waiting for the caller to speak.

He listened, replying when necessary. "...Why'd he call you? ...That coward. Call him back... Why? Because I need his sorry ass here, that's why... I don't care if he's throwing up! I want him at work... He's the one who called you, you should be the one to call him back! ...I'm as confused as you are. Just tell him I need him here... Thanks."

"Who was that?" Breda asked, after he hung up the phone.

"Hughes," Mustang said with another elaborated sigh. "Looks like Havoc's also sick."

"It's sounds like he's worse off than she is," Falman said, referring to Havoc.

Mustang said nothing, but buried his face in his hands. This bothered him on so many levels, everything was just going wrong. He needed to be alone to think, but he knew there was no way that was going to happen; he was the commander to these men and woman, and it was supposed to be his job to settle things between them.

"Why did you bring these here?" he asked, behind his hands.

Hawkeye removed the mug from her hands and said, "I couldn't stand it anymore."

There was silence as everyone waited for her to continue. Mustang moved his hands, allowing him a better view of the situation.

"Jean brought them over to my house last night, before we went out. I didn't think much of it before, but it turns out I'm allergic to them. I couldn't leave them there anymore."

"So, you brought them to the office?" Breda asked sardonically.

He had a point, Mustang thought. Hawkeye spent a lot of her time there in the office, usually urging or waiting for him to finish is work. It would have just been better just to throw them away instead of suffering more by bringing them to work.

"You're allergic to roses?" he asked. Once he thought about, that was a strange allergy. In fact, he'd never heard of such a thing.

"Yes," Hawkeye snapped back at him. "We're not all fortunate enough to be allergic to _dust_, sir."

Mustang was quiet taken aback by her tone with him, but he also felt the need to forgive her. She was hungover after all. But then again, she was old enough and responsible enough to know better than to drink so much as to give her a hangover. As far as he was concerned, it was her own burden to get through.

"And since when have you and Havoc been on a first name bases?"

This was also something he was eager to know; he had heard her speak of Havoc as if they were old friends. And why had he brought her roses?

"Havoc and I are...dating."

Hawkeye's response sent a shiver down his back that made him feel really sick. He couldn't understand his reasons for feeling this way, but just thinking about it made his head spin.

Havoc and Hawkeye? Who would have guessed?

º º º

_So, did you catch the reference to my other fic? It's okay if you didn't, it's not like it's going to change how you read it or anything, I was just curious. :D_

_I planned on only making this a two-chapter fic, but I might lengthen it to three. It all depends on the next chapter. Oh, and the title. Yeah, something told me that if I didn't explain that to you, then I would get a lot of questions regarding it. The title for this was a suggestion made by Wah-Keetcha that literally had me cracking up. I figured that since I had no other ideas to go ahead and use it...to smite you all. All Hail the Smiteiness!_


	2. Cigarettes

Dude, You Suck and I Like the Other Dude (Laying Down the Ante)

_I have decided to change the rating of this fic to T (for teen, yo) because I never know what I'm capable of writing, and I don't want to have restrictions that stop me from writing this fic correctly._

º º º

The silence between them was intense. No one had done so much as breathe since the last one came. When he did, he was completely hungover, more so than the other. And almost right after he entered and thrown himself into a comfy armchair, he proceeded with lighting up a cigarette.

The awkwardness continued until, at last, Mustang spoke up; and as you can probably guess, he was not pleased. "Get rid of that. Just the smell of it's making me sick."

Havoc looked up, squinting with the sudden brightness. "But Colonel," he protested. "I just lit it--"

"--Now."

Reluctantly Havoc put out the newly burned stick of nicotine. And that was that. The colonel was clearly in no mood to deal with anyone at anytime, and his sudden change in attitude was brought on by who knows what. The only obvious thing that was still at hand was that he wished to speak to Havoc. At least, that's what everyone else in the room thought; why else would he call upon the lieutenant unless he wished to speak with him?

The lower-ranked lieutenant opened his mouth to say something, but he seemed to think about it some, because he closed it soon afterword, no words spoken. It was good thinking too, for then, Mustang spoke, his voice stern, yet barely audible.

"I need everyone out." There were the beginnings of protest, in which Mustang silenced with a simple raise of his hand. "Just for a while, an hour tops... I need time to think. I'll find you when I'm done."

This being said, the whole of the company removed themselves from their current locations, closing the door behind them, allowing the colonel the nessecary time he needed to mull things over.

When he was absolutely sure they were gone and out of hearshot, the sickening feeling in his stomach made itself known by pushing his breakfast back up the esophogus and out into the trashbin under his desk. He leaned back, his eyes closed, and covered his mouth with his hand; he knew what would soon follow if he didn't.

After a moment and when he decided he was no longer in danger of having anything else forced from his mouth, he relaxed himself, and began thinking about what was really bothering him. It wasn't the idea of knowing that two of his lieutenants were seeing each other (outside of work, that is) that made him sick, but he had a feeling that that was a small part of it.

He tried to convince himself that he hadn't been cross with Jean merely because he felt a sting of jealousy, but as he looked at the coral roses on his desk, he felt that that too seemed to come over as partly true.

"There isn't time for this," he thought aloud. There were new rumors of war in Lior, and knowning that Edward would soon need comfirmation on that, Mustang stopped thinking about what had just happened, and pulled a report out from the bottom of one of his work-to-be-done piles. He then turned the parchment over to the blank side, and with a pen wrote down a solution big enough for anyone to read that just happened to be down the hallway, if not further.

Finally satisfied with himself, he grabbed the paper and some tape, walked outside of the office, and stuck the sign on the front of his door. He smiled broadly and walked back to his desk, shutting the door behind him.

º º º

"No smoking?"

"But why?"

"Oh, Havoc's going to have a fit when he sees this. Care to make any friendly wagers?"

It was now the next morning. Thursday. Mustang, liking the peace and quiet he got, "forgot" to go find the others after his hour was up, and uncertain of what to do, the whole of his company had gone home for the day. And now with the coming of a new day, Falman, Feury, and Breda had headed out to work, all arriving at approximately the same time outside of Mustang's office door.

When they stopped to read the sign plastered there, they turned to each other, all utterly clueless. Knowing that Havoc was way more than an avid smoker, none of them wanted to be in his presence when he saw what Mustang had done. And although they were itching to know the meaning behind this, they decided it would be better just to wait for Havoc to show up; that way the colonel wouldn't have to repeat himself once he got there.

Casually, the men walked into the office, quickly taking notice of the attitude of their higher-up. He seemed quite chipper, if that was the right word, but another way to describe it would be to say that he actually seemed...happy.

"Pardon me for asking, sir, but uhh...is anything the matter?" Falman asked.

"Of course not, today is a _glorious day!_"

"Then may I ask why there's a no smoking sign on the door?" Feury asked, no longer able to stop himself.

"No, you can't."

The room was silent until Mustang began whistling to an unfamiliar tune. His subordinates silently debated on whether he was well enough to miss out on a trip to one of the military's nurses, but after a while, they decided that they were not going to be the ones to try and force him to leave.

The new and mysterious sounds emitting from Mustang were beginning to be somewhat disturbing, so after a few moments, Breda volunteered to be to one to go downstairs for a refill of coffee grounds. But as all things go, his trip was extremely short-lived, for as he reached for the door handle to pull it open, the door was carelessly pushed in his face, causing him to stumble backwards.

"Sorry," Hawkeye said, peering around the door.

She was accompanied by a very disgruntled-looking Havoc who said nothing as he stepped over Breda and quickly made his way over to Mustang's desk. At this point, the Flame Alchemist was completely oblivious to anything happening around him, that is, until he felt someone tap him on the shoulder.

Mustang turned, only to have a fist plowed right into the side of his face.

He stumbled backwards, tripped over the chair at his desk, and was then lucky enough to have Falman standing behind him for he was able to break his fall. Silence engulfed the room as everyone waited to see what Mustang would do next. When he was able to steady himself, he looked at Havoc for a moment before turning away, a slight smirk on his lips. He was willing to excuse the lieutenant's rash behavior until, suddenly he began choking on something in his throat.

As they began to take notice the colonel's plight, his subordinates moved forward willing to aid him, but he held them at bay, motioning with his arms that he was fine. And he was once he was able to get rid of what was troubling him; he coughed once more, spitting blood onto the ground. He stared at it a while before straighting himself and fixing his shirt collar.

"Get out," he said, still watching the red goo on the floor.

Havoc was more than happy to comply with the colonel's wishes as he stalked past all of them, storming out of the building (probably to have asmoke).

º º º

After Havoc had left, the room had been in a temporary pandemonium over the colonel's well-being; that is, until he was able to persuade them that it was nothing too serious. He instead warned them that they had a limited time to clean the floor before the blood stained, and after that things seemed to return to normal.

"Why did you do that?" Hawkeye said, placing herself in a postion that would keep Mustang's attention on her and not of that of anything else that might distract him.

"Do what?" Mustang said nonchalantly, picking up a report and scanning through it before signing the bottom and discarding into the next pile.

"You know that being able to smoke is what keeps him doing is job, so--"

"And he knows that smoking has never been allowed in the building," Mustang retorted, signing another paper.

Hawkeye sighed. She knew she could never win this fight, but she was willing to try for the sake of her new boyfriend. Just that word in itself made her shudder; she couldn't remember the last time she had a boyfriend or even if she'd ever had one.

"But you've never had a problem with it until now. Pardon me, sir, but what is the real reason for this?"

Mustang removed the paper that was currently blocking his view of Hawkeye. He looked her straight in the eye and said, "The real reason? I don't believe I owe you any explanation for my actions, Lieutenant."

Defeated, Hawkeye turned to leave, when she heard the phone on the colonel's desk begin to ring loudly. The both of them ignored it for a while, but finally she heard him answer it.

"Right. Send them up then." There was a pause before he hung up the phone. "Hawkeye," he called out to her. She turned to face him, noticing the look of discomfort on his face. "Havoc is no longer allowed the privilage of smoking because I...I have a disease."

"A disease, sir?" Hawkeye asked, finding his excuse pathetic.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, I have lung cancer," he said at almost a whisper.

"Lung cancer?" she repeated, now taking him more seriously than before.

"_I'm dying._"

º º º

_HA! I never do cease to amaze myself; I can never stray away from angst and drama for very long, I just can't. I mean, what would the world be like without drama? That, I continue to ask myself, and the results are quite scary._

_Actually, I'm quite happy to say that I have the reminder of this fic planned out and I'm sure y'all will be satisfied (at least) with how it ends. As for Mustang dying, I make no promises, but he. will. die. And that's final. _


	3. Assessments

Dude, You Suck and I Like the Other Dude (Laying Down the Ante)

º º º

_You're **dying**?_

That's what she wanted to say, but the large wooden doors opened up behind her, and all thoughts of discussion vanished. She watched as the Elrics walked in, Ed grinning widely as he passed her on his way to Mustang's desk.

"Good morning Ed, Alphonse."

After having just admitted that he was soon going to die, Mustang seemed to already be in a better mood. Obviously seeing the Elrics had somehow lifted his spirits. Hawkeye on the other hand, was only brought down by their forthcoming; she wanted to speak with the colonel about his condition, but it was clear that is mind was elsewhere. Instead, she sat herself in a chair beside his desk.

"What do I owe the pleasure of having you two today?" Mustang asked the boys. "Normally you come unannounced."

"Actually," Ed began. "I was wondering about my last report. I hadn't gotten confirmation that you received it, so I came by to check."

"The one you were supposed to send in last week?"

"The one I _did_ send in last week."

"If you sent it in, then I should have it."

"Well, could you check?" Ed asked, starting to get irritated by the colonel's attitude. "I don't want you hounding my ass later on because _you_ couldn't find it."

"Fine, fine," Mustang said, waving his hand like he was shooing away a fly. "Come back in an hour. In the meantime, I'll be looking for your lost report."

"Thank you," Ed said, although it didn't sound like he meant it. When he got up to leave, he then saw the roses on Mustang's desk; he knew something was out of place, but when he walked in he wasn't able to tell what. "Thoses roses. What are they for?"

"Havoc gave them to Hawkeye," Mustang answered, his voice sounding unpleasant.

"What for?" Ed pressed.

"How should I know?"

Ed noted that Mustang's remarks were becoming more and more snide with each question asked. Now liking that he had found a new way to tick off his boss, Ed tried to keep the conversation going.

"Then...why are they on _your_ desk instead if with Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

Mustang's face was now beginning to turn red, and either he was shaking out of rage or Ed was tremoring with excitement, it was hard to tell. But Hawkeye noticed the awkwardness, and stepped in to intervene.

"I'm allergic to roses, Edward. I brought them to here so that I wouldn't have to deal with it at home," she said calmly.

Ed said nothing, but sat there, looking like he was taking it all in. Then, turning back to Mustang, he said, "Wait, you said Havoc gave those to her?" Mustang nodded and Ed grinned even wider than before. "Hey Colonel, can I borrow her for a minute?"

"If you must."

"Great!"

With that, Ed leaped up from his seat, grabbed Hawkeye's hand, and proceeded with trying to drag her out of the room after him, Al in toe. Unable to resist when Mustang approved Ed's request, she followed him down the long stretch of hallway, and into a secluded little corner.

He smiled at her almost devilishly.

º º º

She sat on her living room couch watching tv, her boyfriend's head in her lap. When she got home after work, she was suprised to find him already there waiting for her. He told her that after that thing with Mustang, he went back up and apologized. The colonel said he felt generous and allowed the ill-feeling lieutenant to retire early for the day. Hawkeye listened to his story, but thought to herself when she had ever given him a key. After all, they'd only been dating half a day and night.

_"So you did it. You finally agreed to let Havoc take you out on a date!"_

She shook her head, bringing herself out of a daze. She smiled down at Havoc and began weaving her fingers in and out of his tousled hair. It was soft, almost like Black Hayate's fur.

"You're pretty good at that," Havoc said, turning to look up at her.

"It's really not hard."

"Apparently it is: I've had plenty of girls run their fingers through my hair, and not one of them do it as good as you."

_Have you kissed him yet?_

"No."

º º º

She had been summoned into his office during their lunch break. Everyone found it odd that he would want to meet with her at this time; it was usually when he made a mockery of everyone else while eating a turkey-bologna and swiss-cheese sandwich. It was a normal thing for him, just like turning in his paperwork an hour late was also normal for his standards. But today, he had dismissed everyone from the room, with the exception of the female lieutenant.

"Give us an hour; that's your lunch break," he told them as they exited the room. "If the door's open when you get back, then you can come in."

He never said what to do if the door wasn't open when they returned. And what did he mean _if_ the door's open? What were they planning to do with it closed? Would it be locked too? Or barricaded? They didn't ask. The military's rule stated that all lower-ranked officers were to follow orders given to them by a superior, no matter how bizarre the task may seem. And they were going to follow that rule to their fullest extent.

"Sit." She did.

The look on his face was almost too much. She could tell he was masking some sort of pain in an attempt to be completely serious, but it was clear that he wasn't doing a good job. She listened as Mustang cleared phlegm and possibly blood from his throat. That proved that something was wrong with him; at first she thought that he was faking, maybe in retaliation for her dating Jean, but sitting her, listening to him and the sound of his breathing...

"You assessment date is tomorrow."

"I know," she said nonchalantly.

She had totally forgotten about that stupid assessment, but to tell the colonel would be suicide. She hadn't done any preparation, and all the havoc that _Havoc_ was causing in her life, she didn't know how she'd be able to pass it. But wait: Edward's test was also tomorrow, but he was out on military vacation and doing research on the Philosopher's Stone.

"Isn't Edward taking his too?"

"No, he's currently visiting his former teacher on Dublith, so I moved his test date back." Mustang looked at her skeptically. "Is something wrong, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir."

"Good." He cleared his throat again, the moist sound in his breathing making Hawkeye shudder. "I guess I should tell you that the moment your assessment is finished, I will be taking a few days leave. During my assessment with Hakuro, he noticed my...condition, and proposed that I take some time off."

That's good, I guess, Hawkeye thought to herself. With Mustang out of the office, there wouldn't be any trouble between him and Havoc, and the office would for once, be at peace.

"While I'm gone, you'll act as temporary captain, and will make sure everything stays in order."

"Pardon me, sir, but why is my rank as captain only temporary?"

"Bradley wouldn't let me leave a lieutenant in charge, and since you _are_ due for a promotion, I told him you were now a captain. Doesn't think my lieutenants are responsible enough to handle the job, I guess."

Hawkeye was glad to finally get the promotion she so rightfully deserved, but to make it only temporary seemed somewhat cruel of the colonel. For a split second, she felt like turning it down and having Mustang come into work anyway, but she knew she would be able to control the nagging guilt if something horrible happened to him while he was sick.

"Do a good job and we'll make the promotion permanent."

º º º

_I was totally ready to start chapter four of this fic, but while I was rereading it in it's entirity, I realized that I hadn't finished chapter three. You don't know how depressed I was when I found out. That meant that my uber-cool idea had to be held off for a while. _

_Next chapter: assessment (yes!), no mustang, dirtiness! Ahh, the horror! ;)_


	4. Discoveries

Dude, You Suck and I Like the Other Dude (Laying Down the Ante)

_You know, this has like, gotta be the longest title for a fanfic ever. I mean, it's long enough as it is, but then I have to go and give it a "subtitle" (haha) and make it even longer. Yeah, well, I learned a couple of things since this was last updated, and I've decided to add my new findings into this chapter. Hopefully, I do okay; I __**am**__ a newbie when it comes to guns._

_And to the reviewer Malicious-Alchemist: You don't know how wrong you are! Mfustang's my favorite character! All the more reason for him to have to suffer. I guess you could call me a sadist. Sorry. _

_Also, I'm pretty sure they didn't have computers in this time period (that I can remember, anyway), but for the purpose of this story...they do now. Yay for technology!_

º º º

Today was Hawkeye's scheduled day for her assessmentf test. To make sure that she was there at the appointed time, she had woken up a whole hour early, realizing soon enough that it had been pointless. She should have known that Mustang, King of All Tardiness, was going to be late himself. They were supposed to have met in Mustang's office, but with him being absent and her not having the key, she had had to sit outside the doors, carefully looking over all her notes one last time.

Once Mustang finally arrived, it was time to begin. Now, several hours later she had finished the drills, the fitness test, and even taken a written one, but her last skill to be assessed was undoubtedly her best. As she walked into the shooting range, she looked around at the other soldiers aiming and shooting at their targets before grabbing a pair of orange earpieces and heading to her favorite booth at the very end of the hall. She was confident that she'd pass this portion of the assessment, and felt nothing but excitement as she loaded and cocked her pistol.

"Aren't you going to plug your ears?" someone said loudly behind her. "And you forgot to take off the safety."

Hawkeye turned around to face her superior officer and the one overlooking her assessment. He gave her a small smirk before flipping a page on his clipboard and writing a note. That wouldn't be the first time that day that she'd forgotten about something basic; during her armed drills, she'd carelessly removed the bayonet from her rifle, which resulted in her pricking her finger as she clumsily tried to stop it from falling to the ground. She wore the bandaid on her trigger finger as a memento to her stupidity.

She plugged up her ears, removed the safety from the gun, and waited anxiously for her target to slide in front of her. When it did, she held the gun steady, aimed, and fired. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mustang jump with surprise from her shot for he was still writing on his clipboard when she fired and had missed her shot completely.

"Sorry," she said, lowering her weapon.

"You're not finished yet, _Captain_," Mustang answered, clearing his throat and going back to his clipboard.

Now, Hawkeye knew she was being assessed, as was everyone else in their company, but Mustang had been more tolerant with the men of their group (or so she had heard), and ever since he had promoted her to captian, he'd began to treat her differently. Not so much as a stranger, but like she was any other person in the military, which of course, she was. She also noticed that he hadn't yet told anyone else serving under him that she had been promoted. She had told Havoc, but only because she felt obligated to.

Ignoring this like she'd done so many other times, she swung back around and fired at the make-shift target, putting a hole right between the eyes. She smiled inwardly at her success; if she was going to have to regain Mustang's capability in her, then this was the perfect task for her to prove her worth. She shot once more--a bullet to the heart--before Mustang patted her on the shoulder and pointed towards the door signaling for them to leave. Before leaving the range, she grabbed her patterning target and looked at the three holes she'd left in it. She almost pitied the stupid target as she looked at the hole through its chest, placing her hand over her own heart.

She followed Mustang back into his office, standing at attention behind him until he sat down at his desk to face her. As she stood before him now, she couldn't help but notice his sickly appearance. Although his face was pale, it was also flushed with what was probably fever and his eyes were red as if from lack of sleep. It was hard to believe that she had not seen any of this earlier.

"I'll be turning in my report on your assessment to the Furher later today, once I finish working with everyone else," Mustang said, placing Hawkeye's assessment folder and his clipboard down in front of him.

"So how did I do?" Hawkeye asked.

She averted her eyes as soon as her question was voiced. She didn't even know why she felt nervous about asking such a thing, it was only natural to know how one did after an assessment. Maybe because every other time she knew in her heart that she could have done no better. And something was distracting her lately--she'd made so many careless mistakes. But nevertheless, what a stupid way to ask her question; she thought it made her sound arrogant, like she had expected to get top marks. She felt humiliated.

"I won't be coming in tomorrow," Mustang said, completely and quite obviously ignoring her question. "I've got a doctor's appointment," he coughed loudly, "and then it'll be time for some well-deserved R and R."

Hawkeye watched as the higher-up stretched both his arms, eventually clasping his hands behind his head and making a cushion. He closed his eyes and seemed to be in a temporary nirvana. She was glad that he was finally taking some time off, if anything to get rid of his worsening cough.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked.

Mustang opened his eyes and stared at her. "I don't know.... Why, will you miss me?"

She rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. "Doubtful. It'll be nice not having to constantly remind you about your paperwork, sir."

"Ah, but you have Havoc to look after now, don't you?"

"He's differnet, though: _he's_ not a baby."

She mentally pulled the trigger in her head as soon as she heard what she said. It wasn't at all what it had come out to be; she just meant that the two of them were completely different and, ugh! He was going to have her ass for that.

"Some of the more important paperwork will be sent directly to me, but a lot of it is for you to go through," Mustang said, disregarding the remark, but his voice was now much more stern. "You're to keep everyone in line while I'm out, understood?"

"Affirmative, sir...."

º º º

"I'm home!" she called throughout the house.

Riza felt strange annoucing her arrival to her own house. Honestly, she wasn't even sure her boyfriend was there at the time, but she had gotten so used to him being around that she just yelled out of habit. She dropped off her things at a table right inside the door and continued to walk in, reminding herself that she had a scheduled outing with Jean later that night.

As she proceeded, she realized that he was nowhere to be found. That meant he was either still stuck at work, or that he had decided to spend the night in the housing issued to him by the military. Either worked for her right now. Sure, Jean was a great guy, once she finally gave him a chance to be, but she still wasn't sure about this whole dating thing. It was working fine, no mistaking it, but would it really continue to be this way? She could easily see Jean getting tired of her, since he _was_ quick at dismissing his previous girlfriends, and she could just as easily see herself getting tired of continuing to play this charade. No, she had to quit calling it that.

And stupid Mustang. She didn't even want to think about him, but there were times when thoughts of him never seemed to leave her mind.

She searched for Black Hayate, shaking his food bowl and calling out to him. The dog bounded up to her, always happy to see her. Riza went through the standard procedure of having him perform tricks like "shake" and "roll-over" before allowing him to eat. She watched as he greedily ate the pebbles of food in the bowl, before getting bored and walking into the living room.

There was absolutely nothing to do in her little hovel of a house, so she grabbed the remote and flipped on the tv. After a while she began to wonder if her graded assessment would be returned to her tomorrow. Mustang was always so late in turning in his paperwork, but now that he had a goal to look forward to--the vacation that he so readily accepted--Hawkeye had no doubt in her mind that her assessment was already sitting on the Furher's desk.

She couldn't stop her thoughts from straying to Mustang. How was he now that he was home? Was he resting? Was he really going to die?

Standing up, she hurried over to her computer. After finding a relatively good website on different kinds of diseases, she typed two words into the search box: lung cancer. More than twenty sites popped up and she clicked one. She read through it carefully, going back and reading a few more articles for confirmation.

After an hour of searching, she came away learning many things about Mustang's condition. Could Jean's constant smoking in the office really have been the cause of Mustang's illness? She didn't want to believe it, but it was the only way. Based on what she had read, Mustang was already showing some of the early identifying symptoms.

Just reading the symptoms and the causes weren't really enough to worry her, but when she scrolled down, there was one sentence that stood out among the rest: _prognosis is generally poor, with the average survival time being less than eighteen months_.

She was startled when the phone on the desk beside her began to ring. Jean was on the other end and he was just leaving to come pick her up for dinner. As she waited for him to arrive, she shut down her computer, deciding whether or not to tell him her findings.

º º º

_Since I've been gone for so long, you were probably expecting some magnificant chapter from me or something...and yet, I gave to you a mere filler chapter. Sorry about that. I've been wanting to update this story for ages, but it seems that all my ideas for this chapter have just disappeared from my mind. Again, I apologize._

_As a note: Mustang may or may not return next chapter. It all sort of depends on whether or not I can recollect my thoughts. If it makes anyone feel better, I'm writing a spin-off one-shot about Mustang's time away from work. Hopefully it'll bring a smile to your face. :)_


	5. Dreams

Dude, You Suck and I Like the Other Dude (Laying Down the Ante)

_So, for those of you who have been keeping up, what do you think of FMA: Brotherhood? At first, I didn't like how BONES was trying to mimic Arakawa-sensei's art styling, but now it doesn't really bother me. I'm just surprised to see how fast they're moving! Oh, and I love the opening by Yui._

_Also, in this chapter I realized that I'd been spelling Fuery's name wrong this entire time. Sorry for that._

_P.P.S. This chapter is dedicated to all the Havoc/Hawkeye fans that are reading this story, because I know they're out there. :)_

º º º

Mustang put the glass of water back on his nightstand. He was still feeling tired, so he rolled over and adjusted the sheets around him. He coughed loudly, wincing at the painful tightening in his chest. There was no way he was going into work today.

He had been "on vacation" for a little over a week now. During his annual assessment with Hakuro, the general had noticed Mustang's ill health and advised that he take a few personal days. Mustang had told himself, and eventually Hawkeye, that he was going to treat his days off as a paid vacation, while he enjoyed his own company and did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, without having to worry about anything such as deadlines. But so far all he had done was lie around in bed feeling completely miserable. Damn karma.

Ah, Riza Hawkeye. Mustang hadn't meant to tell her he had lung cancer, let alone that he was dying from it. That was only supposed to be a secret kept between him and Hughes, a secret that Hughes had advised he _not_ tell Riza, and a secret which Mustang had found morbidly humorous. He explained to Hughes that he was planning to tell her because he had been expecting some kind of specific reaction from her, although he had yet to tell Maes whether or not he had gotten the reaction he had hoped for.

It was stupid, really—these actions brought on by...what exactly? He told himself he wasn't envious of Havoc's sudden and bountiful good fortune. In fact, he told himself, Havoc's new kismet was brought on mainly by Mustang's unexpected generosity. Although the two of them had had their squabble concerning Mustang's No Smoking sign, Mustang had found it in himself to let Havoc have the rest of the day off. Havoc had also passed his yearly assessment with flying colors, something that deeply concerned the colonel at first, but which he attributed to the ultimate of Havoc's godsends, dating Riza Hawkeye.

Mustang covered his mouth as he coughed again, before falling into an uneasy sleep.

º º º

"Falman, can you deliver these to the Fuhrer's office for me? Thank you," Hawkeye added as Fuery brought in a new stack of papers and set them timidly on top of Mustang's desk.

With Hawkeye having been promoted to captain, she was now in charge of a lot of Mustang's paperwork while he was still out. She had never realized how much stress the pressure had undoubtedly caused him. All the same, it took her a little over an hour to complete something that usually took Mustang four or five days.

She now sat at Mustang's desk, relishing how powerful it made her feel. She could see the entire office and its occupants from this spot, albeit having to occasionally peek around a larger stack of papers, and the view the windows behind her offered her was absolutely stunning. Although she was constantly standing by this very spot near the windows trying to urge her commanding officer to get his work turned in on time, she had never before seen the military grounds this way.

"Do you need any help with that?"

Hawkeye looked up from the sheet of paper in front of her to find herself staring straight into Havoc's large blue eyes. She leaned back, startled at how close his face was to hers. Clearly someone had not been taught about personal bubbles.

"N-No thanks," Hawkeye stammered, averting her eyes as though that alone was enough to keep Havoc from seeing the blush on her cheeks. "I've got it."

"Hmm, okay then," Havoc said smiling. "Maybe later."

Hawkeye looked at Havoc as he began to walk away from her. When he had left the room for another smoke break, she turned and looked at the roses still sitting at the corner of Mustang's desk. She and Havoc had been dating for nearly three weeks now, and somehow, and only God knew how, but somehow those roses had managed to keep living since the night Havoc had brought them over to her place. She had to admit though, despite her constant sniffling because of her allergy to these accursed flowers, she still found them quite beautiful. She reached out to touch one of the wilted petals.

"Hello, Earth to Captain Hawkeye!"

Hawkeye looked up and blinked. Breda was standing in front of the desk, a new stack of reports in his hands.

"These are from the Fuhrer. Apparently, you need to take another look at them."

Hawkeye sighed, her cheeks burning. She motioned for Breda to put the papers wherever he could find room for them on the desk. How embarrassing! She had been doing her part as captain pretty good until now, and she knew that if Mustang ever found out that she had been daydreaming on the job (because God forbid that she have normal human tendencies) he would _never_ let her forget it.

She sighed and plucked a paper off the top of the stack that Breda had just brought in.

Riza Hawkeye would never admit it to anyone, least of all herself, but in all honesty, she missed the colonel. Being with Mustang was very routine for her and without him sitting beside her, she felt like a small piece of her was missing. Was she lonely? She could remedy that; she would ask Jean to come over tonight.

º º º

Havoc was once again lying with his head on Hawkeye's lap as she absentmindedly twirled his golden hair between her fingers. She smiled when she noticed him staring up at her and she leaned down to kiss his forehead. He relished this feeling of commitment and he had to wonder why he had never been able to do this before; it made him feel needed, wanted, and loved. He laughed heartily as Black Hayate, jealous for the affection shared between Havoc and his master, seated himself at Hawkeye's feet whimpering for someone's acknowledgement.

"Are you tired?" Hawkeye asked, momentarily stopping to scratch Black Hayate behind the ears.

"A little," Havoc admitted. "Even though you're only a captain, you demand a lot more than the colonel."

Hawkeye cracked a smile and turned away to hide the blush on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she answered brushing Havoc's bangs out of his face. "You can go to sleep if you want."

"Nah, I'm fine. Besides, I don't want to leave you here all alone," Havoc added with a smile. "I'll just close my eyes for a bit."

Within a few minutes, Havoc was sleeping soundly. He had blissful dreams about the day that he and Hawkeye had made their relationship official....

_Havoc had driven Riza to a restaurant that had just opened downtown. He'd heard that it had an outdoor patio with a terrific view of the city, and even though he saw enough of the metropolis through work, he felt that the open air would help calm his nerves. He loosened the collar of his shirt with his finger and flipped on the A/C, turning it on full blast._

"_I hope you're not going to get cold," he said as he briefly took his eyes off the road to glance at Hawkeye._

_Her hair, which had been tied in a halfhearted up-do, was blowing in all directions, covering her face and cutting across her eyes so that she had to push it off her face every few seconds. Havoc would have found the situation comic if not for the livid expression on Hawkeye's face. _

_He quickly shut off the air and fiddled with his tie._

_The restaurant had been a lot nicer than Havoc had expected. He was relieved when Hawkeye had suggested this place because he had secretly already made reservations earlier that day, and although he was hoping she wouldn't notice, he knew it was fairly obvious once they arrived and skipped four or five parties that had clearly arrived before them._

_After being seated outside on the deck, Havoc ordered the two of them a bottle of wine to share. The waitress had warned them when she brought the bottle to them, something about it being the most expensive and the most potent. _

"_You're really pretty," Havoc had said after his fourth glass, his cheeks scarlet with drunkenness._

_Hawkeye frowned slightly and resigned herself to another gulp of wine. She was also starting to become pink in the face, but she was nowhere near as far gone as Havoc. She swallowed her drink and sighed heavily._

"_Jean," she said temporarily halting Havoc's drunken stupor. "Will you be my...boyfriend." She ended her sentence abruptly so that it came out more as a statement than as a question._

_Clearly taken aback by this, Havoc stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. Although the embarrassed blush was quickly crawling up towards her ears, she by no means looked happy about what she had just done. And the way she had voiced her concern—it was as though she had _never_ done it before._

_Regardless of Havoc's sudden confusion, he was still elated (the alcohol might have helped, too). He had tried countless times to get Hawkeye to agree to date him. At first, it had simply been because she was one of the few officers at Eastern Headquarters that he _hadn't_ dated, but after a myriad of attempts, he began to get the feeling that he really did have feelings for her._

_As the intoxication slowly began re-clouding Havoc's mind and common sense, he grinned toothily at Hawkeye and stood from the table. On a single knee, he planted himself directly beside Hawkeye. He placed her hands in his, his face suddenly becoming impassive as he looked directly into her eyes._

"_I do," he said._

_And then he promptly passed out at her feet._

Havoc awoke with a start. He looked down and saw Black Hayate licking his hand. He scratched the dog behind its ears and squinted as the morning sun burned his retinas, realizing that he had unintentionally spent the night at Hawkeye's.

Seeing that he was now comfortably stretched across her couch, his eyes scanned the room for her presence. He found her curled up in a fluffy armchair, sleeping. He noticed that her mouth was parted slightly, and he quickly turned away, blushing. He somehow felt intrusive, as though she were showing him a vulnerability not meant for anyone but her.

Black Hayate whimpered again and pawed at his hand. Havoc looked down.

"What, are you hungry?" Black Hayate yelped his approval. "Shh!" Havoc hissed. "Okay, okay, I'll feed you. We'll wake your mommy up in a bit."

Not knowing where Riza kept the dog food, he allowed Black Hayate to lead him into the kitchen and to the cabinet below the sink. He grabbed the bag of kibble and poured it into a bowl, completely unaware of the series of commands Hawkeye had the dog follow before mealtimes.

He watched the dog gobble down his food. Finally looking at a clock in the kitchen, he realized that they still had a few more hours before they were due to be at work. Havoc shrugged, deciding to wake Riza up anyway. Maybe they could have breakfast first.

Hawkeye was not in the living room when Havoc returned. He stood at the entrance to the room scratching his head, still dazed with sleep. When she reemerged a few minutes later from her room, fully clad in her uniform with the exception of her bare feet, Havoc smiled and bounded up to her.

"Good morning," he said kissing her cheek.

"Good morning," Hawkeye agreed.

"Well, I guess I should go get changed," Havoc said. "Do you mind if I use your shower?"

º º º

Panting slightly, Mustang slid groggily out of bed. Cursing, he picked up the phone to ask for another day's worth of sick leave. He felt like a weakling after having to call in for the same reason yesterday, but even so, he knew he still needed more time to recuperate. When neither General Hakuro nor his delightfully curvy secretary answered their phones, Mustang resigned himself to get ready for work that morning.

º º º

_This fanfic now has its very own theme song. It's "My Life Would Suck Without You" by Kelly Clarkson. I've had this story planned out for a while and when that song first came out, I think I literally said, "Oh my God, it's the story of Riza's life!" Okay, maybe something less dramatic. Regardless, I think Kelly Clarkson sang that song just so I could make it this story's anthem._


	6. Bonus Chapter

Dude, You Suck and I Like the Other Dude (Laying Down the Ante)

_This was originally going to be a companion one-shot to "Dude, You Suck and I Like the Other Dude," but I decided to include it as a bonus chapter instead. Because of my original plan to make this a one-shot, the first section of this chapter will take place between chapters 4 and 5 of "Dude" (at the beginning of Mustang's time off), while the remainder of this chapter actually depicts what Mustang does on his vacation. I apologize for the inconsistency and confusion, but I know you are all smart enough to figure out the timeline. :)_

° ° °

Mustang had left the office as soon as he had finished turning in Fuery's and Hawkeye's assessments. He had to admit, both scored far lower than he had hoped. Fuery was usually nervous whenever assessments came around, but this time the outcome could have turned deadly at the shooting range if Mustang had not gone over to steady his sergeant's trembling hands. The thought made Mustang shudder. As for his newly-promoted Captain Hawkeye, she had not done much better, but at least her careless mistakes wouldn't have cost anyone's life today.__

What was wrong with him? Was he a bad colonel? He surely didn't think so, but he knew he would be reprimanded severely when the Fuhrer found out how low Mustang's best markswoman had scored. Fuery never did much better than he had today because of the severity of his nerves, but at least he had always passed. Mustang sighed; thankfully the rest of the men under his watch did all right, and when Edward returned from Dublith he was sure to pass with flying colors, like always.__

Mustang thanked the driver that had brought him home, but perhaps he was too generous with the tip. He shrugged as he took the walkway to his ground floor apartment—it was too late to take his money back now. As he neared the front door, he noticed some sort of advertisement rolled and tied precariously to the handle. He unrolled the paper, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He was tired from being sick and having to deal with all those assessments at work, but upon seeing this flyer, all his fatigue seemed to vanish instantly. No, Roy Mustang was never too tired to get drunk.__

The flyer advertised a wine festival that was taking place just walking distance from where he lived. It was at a time like this that Mustang was glad that he had stopped accepting military housing—there was no way the Fuhrer would allow so many of his men, most of whom suffered from depression, post-traumatic stress, or both to just waltz their way over to a festival made consistently of alcoholic beverages.__

The festival was set for a week from now, so he tacked it up on his refrigerator to remind him of the event when the time came. If anything, the wine festival would give him something to look forward to as he began his vacation. That, and the fact that he was actually on a vacation.

° ° °

He stood staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. If Death had a face it would look pale and haggard, would have dark circles below and accenting bloodshot and tired eyes. Death's face would be drenched and hot, sticky sweat with sunken eyes and cheekbones with cracked, dry lips that bled whenever he opened his mouth. Mustang wore the face of Death. He leaned in towards the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He was sure that he had another fever.

Mustang's vacation had not been spent the way he had hoped. The first couple of days had been fine, but by the third day, Mustang had begun to feel rundown. He revisited the doctor and received another week's worth of antibiotics. Stronger medicine, the doc had said. After that, Mustang had returned home and collapsed on his bed where he'd a majority of his time off.

Now, two weeks and a day since his initial leave from work and the day that he was scheduled to return to the office, Mustang found that he barely had the strength to drag himself out of bed and dress himself in his uniform, let alone leave the comfort of his apartment and catch a ride into work. He knew his ability to perform his tasks at work would be poorer than they ever were. But he didn't have a choice. He had been absent long enough, and besides, everyone was expecting to see him today. General Hakuro and Hughes, maybe even Hawkeye. He shuddered as a fresh wave of chills ran through him.

He walked into the kitchen where he had a pot of coffee already brewing. He poured himself a mug and grabbed his medicine on the counter. _Take one pill with every meal_, it read. Mustang looked from his mug to the medicine. Did coffee count as a meal? Shrugging, he popped the tiny little pill into his mouth, washing it down with a sip from his mug. When he brought the mug down from his face, a flash of yellow caught his eye.

It was the flyer advertising the wine festival. While sick, he had not paid his surroundings much attention when he'd crawled into the kitchen for a glass of water (the only thing he had consumed in days) and the flyer that he had found weeks ago and taped to his fridge had gone completely unnoticed. He had forgotten all about it.

He yawned noisily and examined the flyer carefully. He ripped it from the fridge and turned it over in his hands. The festival was today and it started..._Hmm, it's starting right now_. Mustang tacked the flyer back onto the fridge and downed the rest of his coffee. He had three options now: 1) return to the warmth and comfort of his bed and go back to sleep, an option that sounded better and better the more a pain in his head continued to pound against the inside of his skull; 2) continue his day as planned and return to the office as he was expected to do; 3) go out and explore the sweet delicacies of tasting fine wine.

He scratched his head and sighed. He'd made his decision.

° ° °

It was the next morning and the enticing aromas of cinnamon, powdered sugar, and honey were coming from his kitchen. He moaned feebly and rolled over on his side. Although his eyes were still closed, from the minute he had rolled over, Roy had an inkling feeling that he wasn't in his bedroom. It was when he rolled over again and fell eighteen inches to the floor from his living room couch that he was quite positive he hadn't been on his queen-sized mattress just seconds before. __

He landed on his stomach with a thud and the impact had not been kind to him. He could feel something pushing its way back up his esophagus, so he instinctively reached for the bucket that he remembered had been placed beside the couch last night. He cringed as his stomach contents from yesterday's little escapade threatened to escape him as he began to dry heave. Roy could feel vibrations on the floor and sense someone walking towards him, and he took a moment to cease his retching to look over the top of his bucket. What he saw made his stomach churn and he had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting.__

"Good morning, sleepy-head." __

Maes Hughes stood towering over him dressed in his civilian clothes holding a bowl of oatmeal in his hand. What made Roy sick was that fact that Hughes was wearing a very snug pastel pink waist apron. Did he mention that the apron was elegantly bordered with frilly white lace and read _KISS THE COOK_ in sequins that sparkled? Well, it did.__

"Good morning," Hughes repeated when Mustang continued to stare up at him. "Or do you want me to bid you a good afternoon?" __

"What time is it?" Mustang asked. __

He swallowed the excess vomit lodged in his throat, gagging as it went down. He pushed his sick bucket away from him and sat up. The sunlight that seeped in through his half-open mini-blinds hurt his eyes and left his head pounding. __

"It's about 1:30pm." __

Hughes quickly noticed his friend's sudden light sensitivity and quietly shuffled over to shut the blinds. He walked back over to Mustang and extended his oatmeal-free hand to help the man up. Mustang graciously took the offered gesture, and then collapsed back on the couch. He rubbed his right temple fervently all the while complaining about how he felt tired, dizzy, nauseous, etcetera. __

"Well, what did you expect?" Hughes asked, his domineering tone hardly escaping Mustang's ears. "You drank enough for Armstrong alone, probably more. Of course you'd be a little more than _just_ hung over." __

Hung over...That's right, the wine festival down the street. As another wave of nausea washed over him, Mustang remembered why the human body hadn't been created to tolerate large quantities of red wine-it just wasn't natural, or sensible, really. But being hung over had its perks, too. For example, he was allowed to miss work. He could call up his favorite female lieutenant and bitch and moan like a four-year-old child until she agreed that it was better for him to stay at home. Ah, Riza Hawkeye—what other subordinate could be so perfect, so—wait. __

First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye (now temporarily _Captain_ Riza Hawkeye) had been the reason he had gotten so hammered in the first place. She and Jean Havoc. In Mustang's own little opinionated world, the thought of them together could make anyone act just as rashly. But that was something to worry about in a few moments' time. Right now, there was something else that needed to be cleared up. __

"What are you even doing here?" Mustang asked, all the while still massaging the sides of his head. "And why are you wearing _that_?" __

"That's typical—you can't even remember; you drunk-dialed me last night. You told me to come over, and after you opened the door and greeted me with a lampshade on your head, I figured I had better stay over and make sure you didn't do anything that you'd regret later." Hughes put the bowl of oatmeal down on the coffee table before him. "Here, you'll feel better if you eat something. __

Mustang picked up the bowl and took a whiff. Mmm, cinnamon. "I smell honey, too."__

"Oh, those are the waffles," Hughes said. "I didn't think you would be able to stomach real solid food, so they're for me." He made a face and nodded his head towards the bucket beside Mustang.__

Mustang was about to question how Maes was able to make waffles with the ingredients he had in his cabinet, but decided against it. Instead, he inhaled the cinnamon in his bowl and placed the soon in his mouth. It was good. He was going to have to remember to thank Gracia for teaching Hughes the wonderful ways of a woman's cooking. __

Then, a thought occurred to him and he nearly gagged on his oatmeal.__

"I was supposed to return to the office yesterday!" he exclaimed. "And today—"__

Hughes held up a hand. "Already taken care of. I told General Hakuro that you were too sick to call in, since you know," Hughes frowned, "you're supposed to have cancer. He assumed that that was the reason you didn't show up yesterday. I'm sure Hawkeye can handle the boys for a little while longer." He stalked off towards the kitchen, presumably to retrieve his breakfast.__

Mustang looked down at his oatmeal and continued to stare at it like it was the most fascinating thing he had ever laid eyes on. He stirred it with his spoon and picked it up, letting it fall back into the bowl with a _plop!_ It was true, he had told Hakuro, Hawkeye, and the rest that he was battling with an intense case of lung cancer. No, no, that wasn't right. He hadn't told Hakuro at all. He knew that he could end up in serious trouble if the general ever found out that he was lying. It could ruin his chance to become Furher. Hakuro only knew that he had been sick, and that part was true. It just wasn't cancer that ailed him.__

"So, when are you going to tell them that you're not dying?" Hughes asked. He sat down beside Mustang with a stack of waffles covered in powdered sugar and dribbled with honey. He dug a fork into the center of the stack and twisted. A genuine smile spread across his face as he put the fork into his mouth and swallowed.__

"I don't know," Mustang admitted clearing his throat. "I'd like to see how much longer this plays out."__

Hughes nodded, contemplating his next choice of words. "I think that's a bad idea, Roy. You've already put Hawkeye through enough trouble, don't you think."__

"I don't know about that. After all, she did betray me." He smirked in Hughes's direction when the lieutenant colonel opened his mouth to protest. "Relax, Hughes. I'll be off my antibiotics in a few days; I'll tell them then."__

Hughes sighed and hid a grin behind his waffles. Mustang cleared his throat again and coughed into his sleeve, wincing as his head began to throb.__

"I've only known you to get that drunk when something's really bothering you," Hughes said quietly. "The last time was after the Eastern Rebellion."

"I've had a lot on my mind," he acknowledged.

Hughes laughed. "And why wouldn't you? You claim to be dying of some terrible illness, that whiz kid alchemist of yours is all the way in Dublith and, of course, two of your subordinates are participating in inappropriate relationships outside of work."

"That's not illegal, Hughes," Mustang snapped. At Hughes's startled expression, Mustang forced a small smile onto his lips. He didn't need the stress of losing a friend to add to everything that Hughes had already listed. Mustang stared down at his oatmeal for a few moments before saying, "Do you want to know _why_ I drank so much yesterday?"

"Not really, because I'm fairly sure I already know the answer," Hughes said knowingly, "but please, enlighten me."

Mustang frowned. How was it that Hughes knew _everything_? Regardless, he didn't to get this off his chest. If he didn't, he wasn't sure he would be able to tell anyone else when it really mattered.

"I think I'm in love with her, Maes. I'm in love with Riza Hawkeye."

° ° °

The following morning and the day after he had tried explaining everything to Hughes (_tried_ because the lieutenant colonel said nothing and only nodded, and Mustang found the smug look on his face infuriating), Mustang resigned himself to return to work. This time for real. He still felt a little under the weather and his throat was raw from an irritating, nagging cough. Nevertheless, he had already called his office to notify Hawkeye that he would be returning. She had briefly tried to ask him about his health, but he dismissed her questions and demanded that they throw a Homecoming party for him upon his return. He had only been half-joking.

He felt a little flustered after hanging up the phone, but played it off as a mild product of his illness. He shrugged into his uniform jacket and ran a hand through his tousled hair. Well, he was presentable at least. He stepped outside his apartment and hailed himself a cab. He had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wondered if it had to do with what he had planned today, or what her reaction would be when he finally told her.

° ° °

_I had planned on writing the actual wine festival, but decided against it at the last second. Again, I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing since I neglected to put it in the right order. Well, drop me a review if you feel the need (and it will be greatly appreciated) and maybe I will be inspired to update a little sooner next time._


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